The Crow
by XxSkylarkxXx
Summary: Angela doesn’t know who she wants: Dwight, or Andy? There’s this crow outside her house and it’s driving her crazy. She thinks maybe she’ll kill it soon.


**THE CROW**

There's a crow living outside Angela's house. It's built its nest way up high in one of her birch trees, making it out of shapely twigs and sticks, lining the inside with bits of cat fur.

She doesn't know how it gets the fur. Mr. Ash, Bandit, and all the others live safely inside and the crow's locked out, with its tree, its nest and its beady little eyes that keep on staring.

The crow has started to become a nuisance. It lifts its head and squawks throughout the early morning hours, rousing her cats before they need to be roused. It perches on her windowsill and cocks its head and stares, and she clenches, willing it not to divulge any of her secrets. Sometimes it leans forward and presses against the window: _tap! tap! tap! _goes its dark little beak against the glass, and she prays that its portentous form is not some sort of threatening message.

Angela refuses to think of frivolous things when she sees it there, watching, because the matter of the crow seems so much more important than everything else.

Dwight climbed the tree last month. He meant to ascend to the tip and beat the nest away, smash the yolks and rip it to shambles – but only a crow can roost in a birch tree. The branch had snapped and Dwight took an awful fall. He came down hard on his right foot and shattered the bone, yelling about it unceasingly like a martyr. She'd seen the flash of white tearing out of his calf and the following rush of crimson blood that shot over the newly trimmed lawn and she raced for the telephone, shaking. But when she heard the sharp _caw! caw!_ of the crow that so coincidently presided she leaned against the screen door for a time and hesitated, her heart skidding like work boots against gravel.

He almost died and it was her fault, all her fault, but she couldn't tell if it would have been a blessing or a curse if that fall had killed him.

He'd survived. There'd been a lot of blood, the doctors said, but they had managed to stopper it with bandages before it was too late. 'It's common,' said the nurse, 'for people to be scared when those they're close with get hurt; the fear and love and the adrenalin all mesh together and before you know it you're just a shell of who you once were, unable to accomplish even the simple task of dialing a telephone.' Angela nodded and bit her lip but did not listen. She was too busy searching through her head for a list of excuses, methods to explain how this had happened. She settled for the classic: '_He'd been on his way to the car, and he'd not been watching where he was going; and next thing he knew he'd stepped on the manhole and his foot had gone all the way through, and then all the rest of him, and –_' and she'd never be explaining any of this, he would, so she'd only have to prepare the speech and not have to focus on the nuances, the articulate bits…

She thinks the crow really has laid its eggs now. Soon they'll hatch, and she'll be driven mad with guilt and fear and anguish.

Dwight's coming over today. He's bringing food for her because she hasn't been eating that well, but it doesn't matter because she's less than one hundred pounds anyway and losing more can't possibly hurt her very much.

She's watching the crow sitting on its branch and it's not bothering her now but it will soon. It's just sitting there, not moving, and when it's behaving this way she knows she'll feel fine for the moment because it doesn't raise any emotion in her and that puts her at ease.

She knows at the back of her mind that Dwight's visiting and she also knows that he's killed Sprinkles. She's suffered so much hurt from this already that the only thing left is a healed-over sore that itches but no longer stings. It's there nonetheless though and she doesn't want to be hurt again, but if things remain this way she will, she knows she will because it's Dwight. If Dwight stays the crow will break through the glass and fly to her and peck her until she bleeds.

Angela can hardly wait for Dwight to arrive because she's hungry, not for the food but for him. She hasn't seen him for a week because his leg is still broken and even though he'd love to work Michael doesn't allow it. She's been with Andy every day now. It's been driving her crazy, all the wedding plans that she can't stand and the frustration of it all.

It's so hard not having Dwight in the office. Whenever she feels like she wants to die she needs only to press seven numbers on the telephone. Then her heart's thumping furiously and next thing she knows she's with Dwight again, unclothed and sweaty and her desire for him is overwhelmingly carnal, because she can use him like this to take the pain away and no drug has the same anesthetic effect. Later on she'll feel guilty and her heart will seem empty because she shrugged off his adoration so blatantly and pushed away his kisses.

She knows better than to admit to her guilt, however.

Tonight she doesn't have to act that way because she's not in a hurry and she hasn't seen Andy all day since it's a Saturday. It's because of this that she doesn't have to take her frustration out on Dwight for once and she can allow herself to feel the things she used to because she's calm and there's no rush and the crow's frighteningly quiet. It should know now that Dwight's coming but it hasn't begun to crow yet.

Then she hears a key at her door and it's Dwight, she knows it. When she enters the kitchen she sees him there, his shoes off, the smell of mashed potatoes, cured beets, and whatever else he's brought on the table. She feels her chest heave out his name. All of a sudden he's in her arms, wonderful and safe, even though his leg's still hurt and he needs a crutch to get around. She's tried to help him because it was her fault he lost so much blood but he won't have it, he's too self-righteous.

His voice is so quiet, so still. '_Monkey_,' he says, and the crow's pecking at her heart for a moment but she pushes it out and away, refusing to let it torment her now. Dwight's holding his leg awkwardly in the air and balancing on one foot, so she puts her hand on his hip and helps him into the living room.

She can't have him yet, _not yet_, because his leg's sore and he can hardly take off his own pants. Oh god, he's taking so long.

Then they're on the couch and she's kissing him and it feels so good to have him with her. Her longing for him is still there, even after all these years, and it amazes her that the electric pulse they share has outlived her ability to mourn over Sprinkle's death.

They always get straight to the point when it comes to intimacy because it's become such a habit and it feels like such a desperate thing to try and gutter a flame that will never go out. She puts in all the effort because she's always been that way and being with Dwight has summoned something indescribable in her that causes her to lose control of herself, which really does make her resent him so. His broken leg certainly isn't an obstacle in their intimacy but rather forces him to remain still, as she prefers.

At the final wash of pleasure she's fighting to keep her voice from escaping too loudly because it always seems to rouse the crow. Then she's lying there in his arms and he looks so glad to be with her that something familiar and warming tugs at her heart. Next thing she knows she's caressing Dwight's broken leg because she feels sorry for him, for what she's done, and emotion runs through her like the tide. Her heart's swelling and she's fighting back tears and pressing her lips against his cast, thinking of how stupid she is to get herself back into this mess and she really had been doing fine without him this week.

He's looking at her tenderly and gratefully now because he's not used to her behaving like this anymore.

'I almost came to work yesterday,' he says. 'I didn't care what Michael would say. I wanted to see you so badly – even if it was only for a minute.'

_Oh god_, she loved Dwight. She still does and it won't end and it never will – because whenever she holds up her hand to admire Andy's sparkling diamond engagement ring she remembers the day that Dwight tore it off her finger and threw it and made love to her, so voraciously and rapturously and mind-blowingly. He'd pressed her so hard against the curtained window that she hadn't even noticed the crowing outside – that shrill, agonizing sound that still makes her insides squirm and squiggle and crawl down into her blackest depths. Even if she manages to free herself from him she'll still feel him up against her when she's with Andy, breathing her name into her ear. She'll still be able to trace the contours of his hand with her mind's eye, oh-so-effortlessly, drawing them there like charcoal sketches.

Dear god, she'll never be free.

But without Andy – what will happen to the crow? She fears it and hates it but she thinks it's feasted on her heart, enough times to make her feel that it's vital and absolutely necessary to her wellbeing. Without it there to torment her, to remind her of what she's done, what shall become of her soul? She will face eternal damnation, but she sees no point in caring now because even if she gets to Heaven she knows that Dwight will not, it's out of his reach. He owns a beet farm, for god's sake, and he's not doing anything to save himself. He's self-involved and selfish. She reads him the bible but he always gets distracted, and then he distracts her – or he pulls out some other ridiculous _Lord of the Rings _novel and tries to get her interested. She, of course, knows better.

But then there's the sinful unclean things he's done to _her_, and the devil grips her then because she can't stop him no matter how hard she tries. He simply can't be saved.

Angela doesn't need the crow around if she's with Andy.

She likes Andy. She admires his tie and the way he laces his shoes, intricately and neatly; she doesn't mind his clean-shaven scent and his throaty hum and how he's sweet to her. But that's all she feels and she fears it can't be more – that her world will rest on the foundation of merely _like_, and when she dies and her body fades and she's somewhere else, in Heaven or in Hell, what will she have to remember? For whenever she's with Andy the crow clams up and quits squawking and then she's just there, living a life that she doesn't have any particular fondness for, and she hates herself when she thinks of Dwight but the pain and longing that builds like a pressure in her chest as a result is what makes her like Andy the _most_.

He does owns a sizable portion of her heart. Or is it her mind, and the crow that owns it? She can't tell anymore, but she tries not to think of it because it all sounds so silly. It's too difficult to decide whether she would prefer to have Andy without the crow or the crow with Dwight, because Andy can kill the crow for certain, and Dwight can't.

Andy's offered to shoot the crow. It's much more sensible than climbing the tree to knock down the nest but she wonders where Andy would get the gun because he's never hurt a soul in his life. But he would do it for her and that's sweet. Dwight has a gun and Angela's told him to shoot it but he refuses, even though he hunts animals when she's not there and he thinks she doesn't know about it. Angela figures this has something to do with how she reacted when he killed Sprinkles but she thinks he's a bit stupid because a crow is a crow and a cat is a cat and this crow is killing _her_, a little bit at a time.

She knows Andy would shoot it for her, though. She could easily be rid of the crow if she just quit thinking about Dwight. It should be _easy_, but it isn't.

Oh, how she needs Andy! She needs him because the crow's been striking the glass and chipping her windows and when he's there they don't seem quite so bad. Andy would put in new windows, if she asked him to. Even if Dwight had managed to destroy the nest the crow would still be _there_, lurking, and it would lay more and more eggs, no matter how many of them he destroyed, and she'd never be free. But if Andy shot the crow then there would only be the nest left and even if the eggs hatched there'd be no one to care for the hatchlings and they'd all become frail and die and that would be that.

She's thinking about all these things while Dwight's holding her, because it's a habit she's taken to recently. So long as they're not lovemaking, she can hardly bear to look at him sometimes because he reminds her of all the times she's sinned. She counts off a list of the commandments she's violated because of him.

One. Idols. She's worshipped the sun and the moon and the stars and the trees and everything she could think of: Allah, Jehovah, Vishnu, and Buddha – because love swelled so fully in her heart on some days that she could not resist.

Two. Adultery. He pressed her down against her desk the first night she and Andy were engaged. She had accepted him thoughtlessly, so grateful to feel her body against his after such a length of time without him that there had momentarily been no consequences.

Three. Saying the Lord's name in vain. Phyllis caught them together that night and she could not help but hiss an oath to God, cursing him for the outright shame of it. She was so angry with him she could hardly bring herself to repent.

Four. False evidence against thy neighbor. She's lied dozens of times to shut them all out, to keep them from knowing her secret. She's gone so far as to try and lie to Phyllis about what happened that night, in the dark workroom, that it was only a trick of the light that made her see those dim forms panting and twisting in the darkness. She'd never been dishonest, not once, before she met Dwight – but now she was _living_ on lies. Lies were her foundation. She had become so dark, so corrupt, so torn-at-the-seams, that she wanted it all to stop, and she would do whatever it took to _make_ it stop –

Five. She wanted to kill the crow.

Just outside, that crow's beginning to scream. It's flapping and screeching and throwing itself against the window. Black feathers are floating in the air; the crow is a frenzied monster and it has gone mad and it needs to be put out of its misery. A thrill's surging through Angela's veins. She's feeling it in her muscles and her heart is on fire. By god! She'd never thought of doing something about the crow herself, but now the answer seemed so clear, so simple. Dwight's tried to stand but Angela's stopped him with her hand. She's standing, dressing, and heading toward the broom closet she's never used.

Her heart's roaring at her. It's making her want to rush, but she knows this must be done carefully. She needs to do this well and skillfully, has to rely on herself as she always has – and who knows if she'll ever feel like this again? For this crow has always frightened her into humility. She'd ignored it, and been consumed by it, and been so angry at it but at the same time she'd developed such a reliance on it.

No more. It had to go. Now.

She's shuffling through the old coats and hangers, some dusty things that hang like snakes and withered vines; there are badminton rackets and baseballs and all manner of objects that Angela has never looked at or cared for because they weren't hers and she doesn't know where they've come from anymore. She's hated sports because she knew the crow would have dived at her if she played them outside. But she would kill it, as she has done to everything else once hers – and she really would be free.

The bat's shining, gleaming and thick and unused. She's taking it in her hands and measuring it and weighing it with her senses. Then she's closing the broom closet behind her, gliding down the hall, going past Dwight who's awestruck and fascinated in his observation of the crow. Perhaps he, too, has been slightly afraid of it, for it has broken his leg; and this thought annoys her greatly and she feels her fire heighten.

Out the front door she's marching, bat in hand. The crow's against the window still, thrashing its wings. It's screaming bloody murder and flying at her in deep, heavy strokes. She takes a deep breath – and then she swings. Hard. The crow slams against the window and bursts into a puff of feathers. Blood's dripping down the glass. It's a ghastly sight, the crimson suspended in the air; Dwight through the window on the couch, his mouth gaping, with the smears of blood on the window making the illusion that it's all across him instead. She thinks of his fall and her heart aching and the tears burst out of her, suddenly and uncontrollably. The bat thuds to the ground. Her hands, she finds, are covered too in blood, and she merely stands there gazing down at them in horror. She has killed the crow. What a terrible feeling!

Dwight is outside with her now. He's muttering something to her, running his hands over her shoulders and down her back. She can't hear him because there's an exploding sound all through her brain, some kind of icy blankness that she can hardly comprehend.

He takes her hand then and runs a towel through it and she sees that the towel is stained with blood.

There's the sudden screech of tires. Yelling. Work boots skidding against gravel. She knows that noise. It's really so familiar. Andy is in front of her then, the gun pointed menacingly. _She doesn't need him anymore!_ The crow is gone, killed! What is he doing here now? She's free and she doesn't need to be bothered; she can live without him because now the crow won't scream when Dwight's around and the thought of this is unexpectedly painful. She grabs the arm of whoever is next to her to steady herself and she still can't hear any words.

Then the arm's slipping from her grasp and that shocks her. It's getting rather dark and she can't see but she's smelling, no, _reeking_ of blood, and she has just killed, and this is all too overwhelming. Blood is on her hands and clothes and face and she realizes she has been whimpering or crying or something of the sort but she doesn't rightly know. She's fumbling around in the darkness for that arm and apparently she reaches the zone of the automatic light because it flickers on.

She looks up and sees Andy holding Dwight against the wall. Or is it the other way around? – it's hard to tell. One of them has his arms up and they're yelling and Angela can't see what's going on. It must be Dwight against the wall – for he's got his broken leg to deal with. But then again, Andy was never very strong.

There's a gunshot – loud and crisp and clear in the night. Angela convulses soundlessly.

Ah! The crow! Andy must have tried to kill the crow. Or Dwight has taken his gun from him and shot at it himself. This doesn't make any sense, however, for the crow has already died. She's killed it. Or _has_ she. It's been awfully dark. That darned light has gone out again and she really can't see a thing.

Someone has her hand again and is speaking to her in a rushed, frantic voice, but she can't hear properly for the life of her. _Are you okay? Are you okay?_ is the only phrase that she can make out but even this seems fairly surreal. _Let's get you into the house. You'll be safe there. _She's hearing better now, and things are becoming clearer. She's even found that she can speak again.

'But the crow's already _dead_,' she says. 'I killed it and you killed it and now it's _dead_.'

'Yes, he's _dead_, Sweet Pea. He hasn't hurt you, has he?'

'Well, he tried to, but I hit him. I thought I'd killed him.'

'You hadn't, but I have, and he won't be bothering you anymore.'

'Thank god.'

'Yes. Thank god.'

'I'm _free_.'

'Free.' He offers her his arm.

Angela takes the arm and steps forward and finds that she's standing over a man's dead body, sprawled out in front of her.

---

PS: I'm not telling who died.


End file.
